Hanna stood up and turned around, shaking her bouquet at them. “You all just shut up or don’t bother coming to the party later on!”
“Hanna, you shut up,” her mother said. “Don’t disrespect your grandparents. Tatu, wake up.” She gently nudged her old father’s shoulder.
“Oleh, wake up and speak to her,” said Evdokia.
The old man looked up. His mustache was long and white, with dabs of beeswax turning up the corners, and he pulled on it as he spoke. “Well, nice to see everyone. Let’s go to the church now. Come on. It won’t kill you.” He stood up and would have left, but his daughter grabbed him and firmly pressed his shoulders, leveling him back into his chair.
“Sit down, crazy fool,” Evdokia whispered. “We can’t go anywhere without the groom.” She sighed. “Get up Hanna, no use waiting for your husband like that. You’ll be on your knees long enough, you’ll see, either praying over or cleaning up after that… that bad one.” She shook her head. “You’ll see.”
“Hanna! Hanna!” A young man standing in a cart pulled by a white horse shouted in the distance. His light brown hair was darkened by hair cream, and he was dressed in a suit and a wide crimson tie that could have flagged any bull in a field. It was Ihor, Hanna’s groom. He waved his hand, and a long, scandalous purple and green Italian silk scarf tied to his wrist flapped in the breeze. The three other men in the cart with him had similar scarves tied to their wrists rather than the traditional embroidered ones. One man quickly passed a bottle to the others, and each took a hefty swig before they came nearer to the old people’s house. “Please, good people of God,” the groom mumbled with a cigarette dangling from the corner of his full mouth. “Please, good people of God… please come to the wedding.”
“Yes, come to the wedding,” chortled his friends in the cart, waving to the crowd.
The white horse was old and having difficulty because the men kept taking turns at the reins. The crowd quickly separated when the squeaky wooden cart approached. Several men in the crowd had to hold the horse and calm it because it did not want to stop.
“Look out! Even the horse is drunk,” a man shouted, and everyone laughed.
“Hanna, beloved, I came. See, I didn’t forget,” said Ihor.
Hanna placed her hand on her hip. “Fine, fine. I guess I should count myself very lucky. But as you probably don’t know, it is our tradition to have the reception after the wedding.”
“And the honeymoon after the wedding too,” one of Hanna’s girlfriends shouted. The crowd laughed. Hanna turned and stared into the group until she recognized the traitor. “You shut up, Masha. Just because you can’t hold on to a man…”
Evdokia’s short, stocky body appeared at her granddaughter’s side. The old woman’s apple cheeks were ruddier than usual, and her pug nose twitched like a rabbit’s. “Stop it. You can’t fight now, not in that dress or in your condition. Get on with the ceremony. You there, Ihor. Help her into the cart!”
Ihor hopped out unsteadily. He grabbed Evdokia’s hand and kissed it. “Bless me, Babo….”
Evdokia wrung her hand away from his grasp. “Stop that, you idiot! Get Hanna in the cart. The priest is waiting.”
“You couldn’t wait until later to get drunk?” Hanna hissed at Ihor as he and his friends strained to lift her in.
“Look, I might have changed my mind….”
“You do, and I’ll see that you never drink another thing in your life again because you’ll be dead!”
“Oh my little Hanna, so heavy,” Ihor said, dragging her up.
“Thanks to you!”
The men in the cart laughed and handed her the bottle.
“Go to hell,” she whispered to them. Then she smiled at Ihor and pulled some hay from his hair. “What’s this? Where did you sleep last night?”
“Your grandmother made me sleep in the barn—with the stinky pigs. They wanted to keep you pure. Of course, as a gentleman, I had to oblige….”
She laughed and gently brushed the hay off his mustache. “Koo-koo,” she said in a small, high voice.
“Koo-koo-ri-koo,” he replied in his loud rooster voice. They both giggled and bumped their foreheads together. The men in the cart guffawed and whistled with their fingers, and the crowd applauded.
Ihor tried to kiss her, but she turned her head. “Not now, wait a little bit longer.” She turned to her audience and shouted, “Please come to the wedding good people of God.”
The crowd cheered and walked behind the wedding party on the path that led directly to the wooden church at the other end of the village.
THE TINNY CHURCH bells rang. Inside the ancient—some said it was built in the seventeenth century—wooden building, the priest patiently waited for the observers to find a place to stand on the floor, since there were no pews. Ihor’s friends made a path through the crowd to the altar. Hanna and Ihor shyly approached the priest standing before the iconostasis. Father Andrei was a young man whose hobnailed work boots, polished for the service, peeked out from beneath his gold brocade vestments. When he wasn’t conducting services, he was a janitor at the Chornobyl plant. He lived with his mother, Paraskevia Volodymyrivna, who never missed a service her son was ministering, even this one, although she had carried a grudge against Evdokia and her family for over a decade. It had something to do with a sick chicken, but no one remembered the details.
Father Andrei looked stern beneath his mop of black karakul hair and behind his full beard. He cleared his throat and began the service once the bride and groom stood on the rushnyk, the embroidered linen wedding cloth. It was no secret that Hanna had hardly ever attended Mass, but she knew the exact moment when she was to walk in a circle three times. Then, both the bride and groom held lit candles that dripped hot beeswax on their hands as they waited for the priest to place the golden crowns on their heads, say the prayers, and then switch their crowns. Ihor and Hanna exchanged rings, and Ihor fumbled with the long silk scarf that was attached to his wrist before winding it around Hanna’s hand so that it was bound together with his own.
“In the sight of God, I pronounce Ihor Hryhorich Bupko married to Hanna, his wife.”
The wedding party congregated outside the church, and everyone wished the bride and groom great happiness. When a battered old black Volga drove up and honked, Ihor and Hanna waved to the crowds and piled into the backseat that was covered with fake leopard skins. They were going to the village center, where Hanna would place her bouquet on the war monument, a new custom practiced throughout the Soviet Union after the Great Patriotic War. Hanna’s parents and several of the younger villagers followed the bride and groom. The older generation, including Evdokia and Oleh, refused to go and watch. “It’s their tradition, not ours,” Evdokia said, and the old men and women nodded.
THE KLUB, A fairly large building, was packed full with guests, some invited and others not. Vodka, made by Hanna’s father from the best potatoes harvested from his own garden, flowed out of barrels. But the bride and groom were toasted first with champagne and then with grandfather Oleh’s bottle of mead, which his feisty bees had helped produce two seasons earlier. He poured the syrupy golden liquid into two shot glasses, one for himself and one for the bride and groom to share, and they held up their glasses in the air. “To the newlyweds,” he said, looking at his glass with great tenderness. “May they be as rich as my wine.” As an afterthought, he raised his glass to the portraits of Lenin and Gorbachev that hung on the wall, then downed the drink, and everyone applauded while Hanna and Ihor shared their measly glass. Oleh grabbed his bottle before anyone else could demand a shot and was hardly seen the rest of the night.
Nobody complained about the quantity or quality of the food: pork kovbasa, chicken, kapusta, pyrohy, borsch, caviar from the Black Sea, and several tortes made in the famous “Kyiv style,” with thin, crisp wafers layered between rich icings of coffee, chocolate and lemon butter. The sweets were arranged next to a huge silver-plated samovar that once belonged to Evdokia’s
great-aunt, a serf who had probably stolen it from her master. And Marusia’s beautiful wedding bread was given an honored place in the center of the wedding party table where everyone could see it. She tried not to notice who was eating the bread and how often, but her eyes too frequently drifted to the table.
The small wedding band played a waltz, and Marusia was surprised to see Yurko dancing with Hanna again, for the third time.
“Well, he suddenly likes to dance,” Zosia said.
“Here, darling. Have some torte. This one has walnuts in it….”
“He complains that he’s too tired to go to this and now he’s the belle of the ball.” Zosia sat down, crossed her legs and nervously jiggled her foot.
“Look, they’re finished. Here he comes.”
Yurko wiped his head with a blue cotton handkerchief. His face was flushed from the exertion of the dance and the clamminess of the hall. He smiled brightly at Zosia.
“Having a good time?” Zosia said.
“Not bad. Where are the children?”
“Oh, so now you’re worried about them? I’m surprised you remembered you’re a married man with children.”
“They’re fine, Yurko,” Marusia cut in. “They’re with the other children. See—at that table, eating cake.”
The familiar opening notes of the kryvyi tanet began. “Let’s dance this one,” Zosia commanded.
Yurko took off his suit jacket, half-hung it on a chair and sat down. “I’m a little tired,” he said. He loosened his tie. “It’s too fast for me.”
Zosia jumped up. “Oh, so because I want to dance, you’re tired. But with that whore, you’re ready to join the Bolshoi Ballet.”
“Look, I already danced with you….”
“And with every pretty girl under thirty.”
He stood up. He helped himself to a glass full of carbonated sugar water and downed it. “Remember, Zosen’ka—you wanted me to come to this stupid thing. So I’m here. I don’t care if you ask someone else to dance. Go ahead.”
“I want to dance with you!”
“Let’s go,” he said wearily. Marusia watched as he and Zosia held hands and rather stiffly whirled out on the dance floor until it was time to switch partners. She turned away when she saw her son paired up with Hanna yet again. Zosia stamped her foot and abruptly left her new dancing partner, one of Ihor’s ushers who was too drunk to notice her departure, delighted to twirl around by himself.
After the dance, Yurko found his wife alone, sulking on a bench against a wall, her head bent down. “I didn’t plan it,” he pleaded. He unbuttoned the top of his shirt and loosened his tie. He sniffed himself and noticed that his shirt was soaked. “I smell worse than a cow in heat. Hardly sexy…” He chuckled.
“You’re so awful to me.” She started to cry without looking at him.
“Oh, come on. You’re acting worse than the children. I swear, you’re such a baby.”
She stood up and grabbed a half-eaten plate of torte that someone had earlier abandoned. “If that’s how you see me… then here.” Zosia dumped the plate on his head and trotted away from him. The sticky icing hung on his damp shirt like brightly colored confetti.
“Well, I guess you’re finished with dessert,” said Father Andrei, who had been leaning against the wall, and witnessing the scene. He handed Yurko a flimsy paper napkin shaped like a triangle.
“My wife is crazy, Father.”
The priest laughed. “Well, I’d like to stay for more excitement, but I’m off for the night shift. I’m getting a lift in my cousin’s car.”
“You’re on for the night too? I might as well go with you. I’m through having a good time here, that’s for sure.”
“Come with us. He’s meeting me in a few minutes outside.”
Yurko looked for his mother to tell her he was going. Everyone in the packed hall had clustered into a tight circle around the bride, her mother, Evdokia and some of Hanna’s girlfriends.
He found Marusia and squeezed his way between the guests to get to her.
“Mamo, I’m leaving now for work. I’m getting a ride to the plant with the priest, so I don’t have to wait for the bus.” He kissed his mother’s forehead.
Marusia held on to his arm. “Where’s your jacket? Never mind, I’ll find it later. See you tomorrow, darling. I’ll tell Zosia you left. Don’t worry, things will look better. You’ll see.”
Yurko didn’t hear much of what she said because the band had struck up again. Hanna sat on a velvet cushioned chair in the center of the room. Her friends and mother took off her veil, and Evdokia unplaited the new bride’s hair. Yurko kissed his mother again and left just as they were putting a paisley fringed babushka on Hanna’s head. “You’re a married woman now,” her grandmother said. “No more fancy things without a fight from now on!” Everyone laughed except Evdokia, who cried out several times, “My baby,” and smothered Hanna’s face with kisses.
The guests gathered around Hanna and offered her presents of money. Marusia took out one karbovanets she kept deep in her sweater pocket. “For luck,” she sighed, and smiled at Hanna when it was her turn to throw the money into a pot. Married people need it more than anyone, Marusia thought to herself. She cast a disapproving glance at Hanna’s new husband, who was huddled in a corner with a young woman and laughing more than he should have been.
THE BAND PLAYED until almost midnight. Marusia watched as Zosia lifted her tiny son and danced with him. Little Tarasyk, his face smeared with cake crumbs, was half-asleep in his mother’s arms. Katia was dancing a fast polka with another little girl, her long blond hair and satin ribbons flying wildly as she galloped the length of the hall with her friend. Finally they collapsed on the floor laughing because the twirling had made them dizzy.
Past midnight, Marusia and her daughter-in-law collected the sleepy children and headed home. Marusia yawned and was proud to know that all of the korovai was eaten, that not a crumb was left to take back with her.
Tarasyk murmured and woke up in the crisp air. “He can walk a little bit,” Zosia suggested. Marusia held both of the children’s hands and started to make up a story. “Once there was a beautiful little girl named Katia, and a handsome young boy named Tarasyk who danced all night at a magic wedding feast given by the queen of the Lisovi. The Lisovi, as you know, are the spirits of the forest. Well, the queen fell in love with a wolf who was really the lost king of the caves a long time ago….”
ZOSIA LAGGED BEHIND her family. She dragged her husband’s sweat-stained jacket on the ground, thinking about why she was never happy with any man in her life. She was attractive, she was fun, at least she was when she didn’t have to worry about her job, or the children or Yurko’s cold ways. If he weren’t such a bore, such a know-it-all, she might try to be faithful to him. Now, her current lover had left her. She had this new baby to think about. How could she convince Yurko that it might be his after all, when they hadn’t made love in so long? How would he take the news if he knew the truth? Would he kill her and the other man? He’s too much of a coward, she fumed.
The wedding had depressed her, and she vowed to herself that she wouldn’t go to the reception tomorrow. Why are these stupid weddings three days long, she wondered. Once they stop celebrating then it gets bad, so I guess they have to get as much fun as they can out of it before things go to hell….
She kicked at a stone and felt the toe of her nylons rip. I’m too old to have a good time anymore, she told herself, noticing that her short, cracked fingernails looked blue in the twilight. I’m old and ugly and stuck, stuck, stuck. She shivered and put Yurko’s jacket around her shoulders. Hugging it closer to her bare arms, she caught a whiff of his cologne—an awful Polish import called “Steve.” Then she remembered his real, natural body scent that was so familiar to her—a fragrance similar to damp mushrooms in a dark forest—and how her own lush, wet body was anointed by his scent whenever he lay on top of her. And she suddenly felt very sorry for him and wished that she could love him again
.
THE CHILDREN DIDN’T fuss or coax their Baba to let them stay up longer as they usually did. Marusia pulled the divan out and made up their beds. Their heads hit the soft down pillows, and they slept hard and still. Marusia was exhausted but managed to get through her nighttime prayers. She heard Zosia pacing around in the kitchen, opening cabinet doors, looking for something. But long after Zosia went to bed, Marusia herself was restless and slept badly. After rolling about for what seemed like hours, she decided to get up. Too many sweets, she thought, rubbing her swollen gums against her tongue. That’s what I get for breaking the Lenten fast. She shuffled into the kitchen and found the sage and mint spirits she had bought from Slavka Lazorska years ago and dabbed the pungent liquid on her gums. Next, she took a clove from one of her spice bottles, bit into it and let a piece seep into a cracked molar before finally brewing a tea with hops and going back to her bed.
Marusia glanced at her clock. It was after one in the morning. Gradually, her pain eased and she was able to slip into a dream. In it, she was trapped inside a fog of black clouds, with windstorms kicking up all around her. She was looking for the front door to her house, but couldn’t find it, and she screamed for someone to help her. She found a window and saw her neighbors’ homes uproot and roll away like tumbleweed. Then she saw the Virgin Mary arising out of a white mist, dressed in blue robes and a long black veil, coming toward her with Her arms out, ready to catch something or someone.
Chapter 4
THE NEXT DAY was a Saturday. Marusia awoke earlier than usual. The sun had just appeared in the sky, but the hazy gray clouds screened its light. Marusia slowly lifted herself out from beneath the high folds of the goose down peryna, careful not to wake the children, who were snoring peacefully nearby, their mouths open and translucent eyelids shut. Marusia stretched and yawned and wondered if Yurko had returned. She hadn’t heard him come in and thought that maybe she had slept soundly after all. But her gums still ached. It’s only a matter of time, she thought, before the few good teeth she had left would have to be replaced by more gold ones.
The Sky Unwashed Page 3
